


A Little Help

by misbegotten



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Time, Idiots in Love, Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 05:46:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19350715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbegotten/pseuds/misbegotten
Summary: "I've been in love with you for six thousand years too. So now that your genitals seem on board with the idea, I definitely think we should have sex."





	A Little Help

**Author's Note:**

> For the [Good Omens Kink prompt](http://good_omens_kink.dreamwidth.org/): Aziraphale's spent 6000 years not making an effort but his new body is a little more human then before and it's happy to make an effort without his input, especially when Crowley's around. In other words, Az is getting all hot and bothered and is not too sure what to do about it. (and maybe needs a helping hand)

Something was not right.

It had been a trying few days, and Aziraphale pushed aside the niggling worry that he wasn't quite himself. After all, he had literally not been himself. Twice, in fact. And in the aftermath of body sharing with Madame Tracy and body swapping with Crowley, Aziraphale had gained a greater appreciation for the corporeal form he called his own.

Except...

"Do you know what an itch feels like?" he asked Crowley.

Crowley was lounging in a chair in the reconstituted bookshop. That is to say, he was sprawled rather comfortably in a position that to human eyes might seem gravity-defying and painful. "It's like a thingy," Crowley suggested, waving a hand in an all-encompassing "thingy" motion. "On your skin. Well, not on _your_ skin, but on a human's skin. Why do you ask?"

"Oh," Aziraphale said, busying himself with stirring his cocoa. "No reason."

*

"Are you all right, angel?" Crowley asked as they fed the ducks. Or rather, Crowley was feeding the ducks. Aziraphale was trying to decide if Crowley's hair product had always smelled of myrrh. 

"Fine, just fine," Aziraphale answered absently. "Crowley, have you considered letting your hair grow out again?"

Crowley scattered the last of his bread and turned to regard Aziraphale over the rims of his sunglasses. "Why?" he asked suspiciously.

"Oh! It-- it's nothing," Aziraphale stammered. He reached out and brushed back a stray lock from Crowley's forehead. "I just... I've always liked it long," he said. Colour was high on his cheeks, he could tell. The back of his neck prickled.

Crowley considered him for a moment before adjusting his sunglasses. "I'll keep it in mind," he said. "Lunch then?"

"Yes," Aziraphale said quickly. And tried not to imagine running his hands through red curls.

*

Aziraphale had a bed, but he didn't tend to use it. It resided in the flat above his shop much like the toothbrush he didn't need; it was there because humans surrounded themselves with such things.

To his surprise, he woke up in the bed. The sheets smelled freshly laundered, though they had in fact not been used in the twenty-odd years since Aziraphale chose them to match the bedspread. The bedspread matched the wallpaper, which in turn matched a rather smart throw rug to which Aziraphale had taken a fancy because the blue in its decorative border reminded him of the sky in the first days of the Garden.

That was all neither here nor there. The point was that he woke up. In bed. And he was sweating.

Aziraphale could just barely recall fragments of the dream he'd been having, in which he and Crowley had been on a lovely picnic. Crowley had been sunning himself in Aziraphale's lap, his coils pressed firmly against Aziraphale's thighs. As Aziraphale shifted, Crowley mumbled lazily, "Ssstop squirming, angel," and Aziraphale tried to hold still but his body seemed to have a mind of its own and he found himself bucking up ever more urgently until--

"Oh dear," he said when he had escaped the remnants of the dream and wakened fully.

The sheets would need laundering. Real laundering.

*

"I've got tickets to the symphony," Crowley said, dropping onto the sofa next to Aziraphale. "We could grab a bite before." His hand fell on Aziraphale's knee and he squeezed gently. "Sound good?"

Aziraphale attempted to ignore the shiver that overtook him at Crowley's touch. "Who are they performing?" he asked, as casually as he could. He uncrossed his legs so Crowley's hand was no longer on his knee.

"Handel I think," Crowley said, after righting himself on the sofa. 

Aziraphale brightened for a moment, then shifted uncomfortably and recrossed his legs. "I think I better not," he said regretfully. "I've got a few things that need doing."

Crowley leaned over, his shoulder nudging Aziraphale's, and Aziraphale closed his eyes. "C'mon," Crowley cajoled him. "You know you want to."

"Don't try to tempt me, demon," Aziraphale snapped.

Crowley drew back as if stung. "All right," he said. Aziraphale felt, rather than saw, Crowley pull himself up from the couch. "I like _bebop_ better anyway." 

After Crowley had gone, Aziraphale took several steadying breaths.

*

Aziraphale was in the shower when Crowley let himself into the flat. "Angel?" Aziraphale heard him call. "Where are you?"

Aziraphale, his body turned resolutely into the bitterly cold shower stream, couldn't find his voice. He did manage to miracle the water into stopping. He stood there, water dripping off his appendages, quietly shaking and willing Crowley to go away.

"Angel?" Crowley's voice came nearer. And then, "Angel are you-- _Aziraphale_?"

Aziraphale kept his eyes firmly fixed on the floor. "Might I trouble you for a towel?"

There was a long pause before Crowley crossed the floor to his side. "Here," Crowley said, and produced a fluffy white towel. He extended it to Aziraphale, who wrapped it around his waist. 

He still couldn't meet Crowley's face. He opted for standing still, hoping that Crowley might take pity on him and leave. 

"Angel..." Crowley drawled. "Were you _wanking_?"

"Of course not!" Aziraphale exclaimed. "Except. Perhaps. Yes." His shoulders slumped. He dared a glance at Crowley.

Crowley's expression was unreadable. "Do you, er... need help?"

"Oh, you _musn't_!" Aziraphale said somewhat desperately. "Don't make fun of me!"

Crowley tilted his sunglasses down. Then took them off entirely and placed them in his pocket. "I'm not," he said. "Why would I?"

"Because I'm an angel! I'm meant to be above such things!"

Crowley pursed his lips. "Well," he said thoughtfully, "you're probably not supposed to get quite as much enjoyment out of crepes as you do either." 

Aziraphale made a noise of exasperation. He hitched his towel higher around his hips, and stepped carefully past Crowley to examine his face in the mirror over the sink.

Golden eyes met his in the reflection, however. "And what brought this on, after six thousand years?"

Crowley was uncomfortably close, Aziraphale decided. He tried stepping to the side, but Crowley put his hands out and bracketed Aziraphale's hips against the sink. Instead of finding the words to protest, to his mortification Aziraphale let out a rather strangled moan.

"Angel," Crowley said carefully. "I asked you a question."

Aziraphale turned and raised his chin. With as much dignity as he could muster, he said, "It's you, all right? I seem to be having a reaction to you. A physical reaction. It's quite embarrassing and I'd rather not talk about it."

"I wasn't here," Crowley pointed out gently.

"It doesn't seem to matter," Aziraphale admitted. "I keep having _thoughts_ about you."

"And you find that embarrassing," Crowley said flatly.

"No!" Aziraphale protested. "Yes. I mean, I'm not supposed to... I think I'm _broken_ , Crowley!"

Crowley put a finger to Aziraphale's lips to shush him. "Calm down," he said gently. "You haven't Fallen, if that's what you're worried about. You're still annoyingly angelic."

"Then what--" Aziraphale began, but stopped when Crowley leaned in to sniff him. A good, long whiff. One that made Aziraphale feel so bare that he reached down to assure himself that his towel was still in place.

"I'll be damned," Crowley said, finally. He rocked back on his heels and regarded Aziraphale with amusement. "You're a little bit human!"

"That's ridiculous," Aziraphale said. Then, with less certainty, "Isn't it?"

"I think that when Adam pulled you out of Madame Tracy, he made your body a tiny bit real!"

Aziraphale was aghast. "What does this mean?" he fretted. "Will I age? Will I lose my hair? Will I _die_?"

"Not on my watch," Crowley growled. His lips settled quickly back into amusement. "You're fine," he said reassuringly. "You can still miracle things, right? And I don't smell a bit of decay on you. You're just the tiniest, itsty-bitsiest, minutest part human. You can barely tell."

"So these carnal impulses are a gift from Adam?" Aziraphale said doubtfully. "Crowley, he's just a child!"

Crowley tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe he gave you the capacity to love."

Aziraphale sighed. "Don't be ridiculous. I've loved you for six thousand years. I didn't need any help there." 

Crowley, Aziraphale realised rather belatedly, was gaping at him.

"What did you say?" Crowley asked.

"I've loved you for six thousand years. Genitals have never entered into it."

"You love me?"

Aziraphale frowned. "Of course I love you."

"And you never thought to say?" Crowley's voice cracked slightly.

"Well," Aziraphale said hesitantly. "I thought you knew?"

"Angel," Crowley replied fiercely. "I'm a demon. How could you possibly love me?"

"But I've always--" Aziraphale floundered. "Your smile! The way you make me laugh! Your... _you_! Crowley, of course I love you!"

Crowley looked pained. "But you wouldn't go away with me," he said softly. 

"I wanted to. But there was rather a lot at stake," Aziraphale protested. "The world..."

"And now that the world is safe?"

"And now I love you even more," Aziraphale said firmly.

Crowley blinked. He blinked again, perhaps for emphasis. "Right," he said with determination. "We should have sex now."

Aziraphale gripped his towel tightly. "Crowley, we both know that sex does not equal love."

"Of course it doesn't," Crowley chided him. "But I've been in love with you for six thousand years too. So now that your genitals seem on board with the idea, I definitely think we should have sex."

"I--" Aziraphale said helplessly, and tried to gather his wits. "Crowley, are you sure?"

"Angel," Crowley said fiercely. "You've given me the worst case of blue balls in history."

"Oh!" Aziraphale exclaimed. "Oh, I-- Crowley. My dear. I would love to help you with that, er, little problem."

"It's hardly little," Crowley huffed. He licked his lips as Aziraphale's towel fluttered to the floor. "And neither are you, I see."

"Well, I am proportionally endowed, I think and-- oh. Oh my!" Aziraphale's voice went rather high as Crowley dropped to his knees and placed his hands on Aziraphale's hips. Aziraphale's cock, which had been mostly ornamental until his recent troubles, stirred eagerly as Crowley leaned forward to nose the musky skin. "That's quite nice and I think--"

Aziraphale's thought process was quickly derailed when Crowley took Aziraphale's cock in his mouth.

Oh, Aziraphale thought rather giddily. This was much better than he had anticipated.

Crowley's eyes, ever so beautiful, were locked on Aziraphale's as he sucked. Aziraphale tried very hard not to snap his hips, but the things that Crowley was doing with his tongue ripped Aziraphale's self control to shreds. His hands reached out until he found purchase in Crowley's hair, threading his fingers through the strands as he'd once daydreamed of doing. 

Crowley pulled off with a filthy grin and tightened his hold on Aziraphale's hips. "C'mon," he urged. "Fuck my mouth."

At that, Aziraphale was lost. Crowley's lips were a furnace against his skin, his cheeks hollowed to draw Aziraphale in further, and Aziraphale felt himself pushing, bucking, rising to meet Crowley's challenge even as his legs shook and his knees threatened to give way. He tightened his hold on Crowley's hair, and came pulsing into Crowley's mouth with a wordless keening sound.

He panted heavily, nearly folding himself over Crowley's crouched form. "Crowley," he managed as Crowley held him up, "I think I understand why humans sometimes mix up sex with love."

Crowley drew himself up from the floor, pulling Aziraphale with him. "It's an easy mistake," he agreed. He tugged Aziraphale to the bedroom and miracled away his own clothes. "Lie down," he suggested.

Aziraphale fell gratefully to the mattress. His body was tingling in a cacophony of new sensations, and his limbs felt terribly heavy. "I want to--" he said brokenly, the words thick on his tongue. "I want to be with you."

"Shh," Crowley whispered against the back of his neck. Crowley draped himself around Aziraphale. "I'm right here," he murmured, the words tangible against Aziraphale's skin as he licked and sucked a path across his shoulders. Crowley nuzzled the skin where Aziraphale's wings were hidden, and Aziraphale startled himself with the wanton moan that fell from his lips.

"Crowley," he gasped. "Oh, Crowley."

Crowley chuckled and moved downward, his hands marking the slope of Aziraphale's spine, pausing at the rise of his hips. He continued to mark his path with kisses until, at last, he was at the cleft of Aziraphale's arse. 

Aziraphale made a choked sound as Crowley licked into him, and he bucked his hips helplessly. 

"Again?" Crowley teased, and Aziraphale nodded wordlessly. 

Crowley continued to draw indecent sounds out of Aziraphale with his tongue and, when, Aziraphale thought he could not stand any more, his wet fingers. Aziraphale writhed helplessly, willingly, and when Crowley crooked his fingers just so Aziraphale thought perhaps he would explode from pleasure.

"Crowley," he murmured. "Crowley, _please_."

Crowley's cock was heavy against Aziraphale, and then inside him, and it was all Aziraphale could do not to shout. Crowley thrust more deeply as Aziraphale pushed against him, muttering encouragement like blessings until Crowley's grasp on his hips tightened painfully and with a hoarse cry he came.

They fell into a tangled mess of limbs and endearments. 

"Crowley," Aziraphale managed weakly. "Thank you." _Thank you for staying with me for six thousand years_ went unspoken. _Thank you for being you._

Crowley chuckled, his breath warm against Aziraphale's cheek before he dropped a kiss there. "Angel," he said, curling himself around Aziraphale's body, "I'm always happy to help."

**Author's Note:**

> ::facepalm:: I blame the kink meme.


End file.
